


Distraction

by CommonNonsense



Series: Overwatch Ficlets [8]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Light Angst, M/M, Making Out, well that's a pair of tags to put together isn't it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 21:38:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17568398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CommonNonsense/pseuds/CommonNonsense
Summary: There are days--not often, but nonetheless present--when nothing Hanzo does can calm the racing thoughts in his head. He needs something to drown out the noise.





	Distraction

**Author's Note:**

> Originally inspired by a post on Tumblr by BluandOrange about Hanzo suffering from overstimulation and using affection/sex/whatever to drown it out. :D

There are days when Hanzo's thoughts overtake his head.

In the past, those days left him helpless, paralyzed by the constant, unending buzzing of  _ thoughts  _ and  _ fears _ and  _ stimuli _ parading through his head in a disorganized cacophony. He drowned those days in bottles of sake or whatever other cheap liquor he could get his hands on--even thinking of those days leaves the astringent taste of ethanol on his tongue.  

These days, he finds it harder to resort to that habit. Between the watchful eye of a dozen Overwatch agents and the helpfully nosy AI, and the strides he has made in an attempt to better himself in the last year and some months, the idea of drinking himself into a stupor to drown out his mind doesn’t have the same appeal. Still, it is more tempting than he would like. 

Today has been a bad day. The team spent most of it together, training and in meetings and following up their hard work with a large dinner, and Hanzo is moments away from snapping. He normally loves these days, loves to lose himself in the simplicity of physical activity and tactics and work, but some switch was flipped today and all of it is overwhelming. He is lost under the constant babble of conversation, the oppressive closeness of a dozen other bodies, the racing of his own thoughts. He is irritable and frustrated and feels on the verge of absurdly bursting into tears, and he finally has to excuse himself from the meal and depart to the blessed emptiness of his dorm.

Even that, though, is not enough. His skin itches with irritated energy, his head full to bursting with anxious thoughts that run and tumble over one another, fragments of thoughts and emotions and frustrations and fears that don’t quite finish themselves before they crash into others, words and static that coalesce into a hideous dissonance in his head. Hanzo shoves his head under his pillow, drowning out even the white noise of his dorm, and breathes in the stale scent of his sheets. 

A few minutes pass. Somewhere, distantly, Hanzo hears the door to his dorm slide open and shut. There is only one person on the base who has the passcode to his dorm, so Hanzo is unsurprised when a weight settles at the foot of his bed and he hears McCree’s voice ask, “You alright, sugar?”

Hanzo’s answer is a harsh sigh from under the pillow. The tiny space rapidly heats with his breath, humid and unpleasant before it cools again. A hand comes to rest on Hanzo’s ankle, thumb stroking over his jeans, and Hanzo’s focus narrows immediately on the affectionate touch: the gentle weight, the firm grip, the warmth bleeding through the denim. 

He lifts the pillow and sits up slowly. McCree watches him patiently, brow crinkled with concern. No doubt that he noticed Hanzo’s moods early in the day, observant as he is. Guilt for worrying him adds itself to the mix of emotion, heavy and nauseating in Hanzo’s gut, as well as a touch of embarrassment for the way he has acted despite having no concrete reason to do so. 

“I have been better,” he says bitterly.

“Sounds like. Somethin’ wrong?” 

Hanzo rubs his eyes with his palms, pressing hard until he sees stars. The discomfort is almost a welcome distraction. “No,” he says, and then, “Yes.”

A beat of silence follows as McCree tries to parse the nonsensical answer. Hanzo tries not to scowl. “Anything I can do?” McCree asks eventually. 

Hanzo drops his hands to regard McCree. McCree simply watches, waiting, concern etched in his features. His grip never falters, warm and grounding on Hanzo’s ankle. 

Hanzo pushes forward without thinking, fisting his hands into McCree’s shirt and pulling him down into a hard kiss. 

McCree grunts in surprise but doesn’t push him away. Confused, he is slow to react, but his lips purse under Hanzo’s nonetheless, his hand coming up to tentatively rest on Hanzo’s waist. Shy fumbling won’t do it, though, and Hanzo breaks through the hesitance, pushes his tongue past McCree’s lips, grips McCree’s thigh mere inches from his groin. Then McCree makes a distinctly unhappy noise as Hanzo’s hand slides up, and he turns his head away sharply. Alarmed, realizing he’s crossed a line, Hanzo quickly sits back. 

“Hanzo, what the hell?” McCree demands. “Not that I mind most of the time, but give a guy a bit of  _ warning." _

“I am sorry.” Hanzo stares at the bedspread, fists curled in his lap as shame churns his stomach. 

McCree sighs deeply. Hanzo half-expects McCree to get up and leave, but is instead surprised to feel McCree gently curl a finger under his chin, tipping his face up to look at him.

“Hanzo, if you need something, just tell me,” McCree murmurs, brushing his thumb over Hanzo’s cheek. “I’ll do whatever I can, but not like that.”

Hanzo grits his teeth. “I cannot stop  _ thinking, _ ” he says, frustrated that the words don’t exist to make McCree properly understand. “Everything is too much. I need to drown it out. I need  _ you. _ ” 

It makes no sense as an explanation, but recognition dawns on McCree’s face nonetheless, followed by sympathy. “Need to turn off your brain for a bit?” he suggests. Not the words Hanzo would have chosen, but he can think of nothing better, so he nods. “Alright. I get that.”

“Do you?” Hanzo spits, unable to help himself, and regrets the words immediately.

McCree doesn’t rise to the bait, though, only humming his assent. “It happens here and there,” he says. “Bad day, brain won’t shut up long enough to get anything done. Not so much nowadays that I have more work to do, but it’s happened before. I gotcha.”

His hand cups Hanzo’s face fully and Hanzo leans into it instinctively, seeking any contact that he can get. McCree’s other hand comes to rest on his hip, gently squeezing. “You sure this is what you want?” he asks, and in spite of everything, Hanzo can’t help rolling his eyes.

“ _ Yes _ ,” he says irritably. “I would not have asked if it wasn’t.”

McCree chuckles fondly. “Alright,” he says again, as though Hanzo’s behavior is somehow acceptable. “I can do that.” He brushes a kiss against Hanzo’s forehead, and Hanzo’s breath catches. “Let me know if it gets to be too much, alright? I’d hate for this to backfire.”

“It won’t,” Hanzo says, bordering on desperate. “Jesse--” 

The rest of his words are lost as McCree bends down, cutting him off with a gentle kiss, and Hanzo nearly sobs with relief. 

The kiss stays slow and light at first. Hanzo tries to press in but McCree backs away, not enough to break the kiss but enforcing the gentle pace. He presses kisses against Hanzo’s mouth, lets each one naturally break before he gives another. Though irritated by the slow pace, Hanzo finds a fraction of his tension seep away nonetheless as he is forced to focus on following what McCree has set. 

After a minute, McCree apparently deems that it has been long enough and presses in, wrapping his arm around Hanzo’s back with his hand spread wide and leaning into Hanzo’s chest. His tongue teases Hanzo’s lips apart, drawing him into a deeper kiss, while his other hand moves to the back of his head and swiftly removes his hair tie. Hanzo sighs as McCree’s fingers stroke through his hair, thumb scratching along the shaved sides. 

Still, even this is not quite enough, and Hanzo can feel his focus starting to slip away, back toward the anxious thoughts. He reaches for McCree’s shirt, aching to touch and find a new stimulus to chase away the rest, but he only gets two buttons open before McCree stops him. 

“Hey now,” he murmurs, covering Hanzo’s hands with one of his own. “Don’t worry about that. Just let me love on you a bit.”

Hanzo bites back a whine. “I want to feel you,” he protests. 

McCree’s huff isn’t quite a laugh. He sits back and peels his shirt off over his head, buttons and all. He kisses Hanzo again as his hands slide up Hanzo’s skin, slow and deliberate, callused fingertips on one side and cool metal on the other dragging across his ribs as McCree rucks up his t-shirt. They have to break away again for Hanzo to pull the garment off, and here McCree pauses to ask, “This still alright?”

Hanzo considers this. He is better, he thinks, than a few minutes prior--his thoughts now are mostly on McCree, on the warmth between them and the tingling of his lips. But he can still feel the storm lingering, prowling at the edges of his awareness like a beast waiting to pounce, easier to ignore but not yet banished. 

“More,” he says, and he barely finishes speaking the word before McCree surges forward. 

McCree catches his mouth again as he pushes Hanzo back onto the bed, pushing him down into the sheets, and Hanzo finds himself completely, utterly surrounded. McCree supports himself with a forearm next to Hanzo’s head, his weight pinning Hanzo to the bed while his other hand makes wide, firm caresses along Hanzo’s side. He kisses with a focused sort of determination that he has never utilized before: none of the laziness nor fervor that were typical, depending on the day, but a dedicated thoroughness evident in the long, measured presses of his lips and the slow curls of his tongue. Hanzo’s head spins as he is buried under the methodical onslaught of sensation, smothered wonderfully under McCree’s touch and scent and presence. He wraps his around around McCree and spreads his hands wide just to feel more of the scar-marked skin and firm muscle under his palms. 

The vicious buzz in his head recedes but still lingers, as though it knows the distraction for what it is. Hanzo digs his fingertips into McCree’s back, grounding himself further in what is happening now.

McCree’s mouth slides away from his, only to return to press a kiss to the sensitive dip behind his ear. Hanzo jerks and gasps, startled by the pleasure and the burst of arousal that shoots through his gut. McCree does it again, then continues on, leaving a trail of kisses down his neck. His teeth scrape faintly against at the junction of Hanzo’s neck and shoulder, and Hanzo swallows down a moan as his mind finally goes blissfully, utterly blank.

He sinks a hand into McCree’s hair and drags him back up again. He’s sure that his grip must be painful but McCree complies without complaint, and Hanzo gives himself up to be consumed in mind and body.

He loses track of time entirely--it could be minutes or hours before they finally begin to slow again. Open-mouthed kisses give way to more chaste pecks, desperate hands to light touches that eventually settle in comfortable spots. McCree brushes Hanzo’s hair away from his face as he leaves one last lingering kiss on his lips, then lifts his head to look at him. Dazed, it takes a moment for Hanzo to meet his eye. 

McCree smiles softly down at him. His cheeks are flushed a faint red, and his hair is mussed slightly--Hanzo must have run his hands through it at some point, though now he can’t quite recall having done so. McCree shifts slightly and Hanzo becomes abruptly aware the firmness nudging his thigh, as well as his own arousal, but neither are in a hurry to do anything about it now. 

“Any better?” McCree asks.

Hanzo takes a deep breath. Lets it out slowly. Looks up into the affectionate gaze of a man who cares so deeply about him.

“Better,” he says. McCree’s smile widens, becoming a bright, relieved grin that Hanzo can’t help but reciprocate. He loops his arm around McCree’s neck and pulls him down again, not for a kiss but just to press their foreheads together, and close his eyes, and breathe. “Thank you.”


End file.
